Conviction For Elena
by potfpeep12
Summary: Damon Salvatore has just been proven innocent for the murder of Jeremy Gilbert, but unluckily, the town isn't as forgiving as the jury was. Now, the witness of the crime has turned the whole city against him and the only way to restore peace is to prove his innocence to the witness.
1. Conviction

It was never going to be an ordinary day for me. But then again, I guess it depends on who you ask. Me? I'm used to it. I brought it on... It had to be done. But isn't that what all criminals tell themselves? "It had to be done, therefor, I am not guilty."

Let me ask you this... If you witnessed a murder, no background info or details to go by, would you believe the killer if they simply pleaded innocent? I wouldn't. Even though I _am _the victim in my situation, I can appreciate a bystander's point of view.

The lady that stood against me in court was very unyielding and specific. I couldn't blame her. If I'd had a nickel for every child-molester that claimed innocence in my day... Well, you know. I just wish I could've had a moment alone with this woman, explain my side of the story, tell the truth. Don't get me wrong, I requested it. I bet you could guess how that played out.

But guess what? I _am _innocent, and the jury believed me, so did the judge and whoever else matters. So why am I Iosing sleep over this case? Two words:

Elena Gilbert.

-Day 1

I walked to work today. Big mistake. The citizens in this county are almost as unrelenting as the court was my first go 'round. People are picketing my presence, throwing gum my way, banning me from their stores, and screaming obscenities at me. It takes every ounce of self-control I possess not to yell back at them.

I could never understand how people could be so judgemental towards people that they know nothing about. I mean, ease up a little. You weren't there when O.J. did or did not murder his wife. Leave the guy alone.

Not even my morning coffee can tame the fire in my gut. Partly because it's gonna take a lot more than coffee to cheer me up, but secondly because none of the coffee shops will allow me in.

"We have the right to deny anyone service," they say. "Now leave, you scum bag!"

I bow out gracefully, continuing my route to work. The people there are a little more forgiving than everyone else. My boss believes me and my co-workers are cordial, but stand-offish. I think they're afraid of me, like I'm planning to murder them all in their sleep, or something. Give me a break.

"Damon, get your ass in here!" My boss hollers. I suspect he's called to tell me how lucky I am to have this job back after the crap I pulled and not to get into any more trouble, or it's my ass.

I enter solemnly into his glass office and take a seat in the tattered, out-of-date chair. "Yes, sir?"

My boss is rather inconspicuous, so I find it funny when he tries to appear tough, using harsh language and actually being a disciplinary. He's a very small man, no facial hair or muscle to accentuate his appearance, making his speech that much more amusing. His North Dakota diction rings in my ears.

"Listen, Damon. Everyone here is really glad to have you back. Granted, that's probably because they... Well, they fear you," he informs.

"Leslie, I understand completely understand. I'll try and stay under the radar, now. Maybe I could work from home?"

He shakes his head reluctantly, scooting a piece of paper towards me. I glance at it and look at Leslie questionably.

"A letter of resignation?" I ask. "Les, I'm not resigning. I didn't write that."

He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest. "I know, Damon. I just didn't think it would do you any more good to be fired... Do yourself a favor. Just sign it."

"So, you're looking out for my best interest, huh? Are you sure you weren't just too much of a coward to fire me? Huh, Les?!" I storm out of his office and make sure to slam the door when I exit.

I'm furious. As if my life wasn't bad enough, now I'm an unemployed twenty-three year old with an almost-criminal record. Who's going to hire me? How am I going to pay my bills? I have no friends to stay with and even my family thinks I'm guilty. Can't live on the street because the townspeople will have me stoned, or something else horrible.

It's only eight o'clock in the morning. That gives me just enough time to drink myself into a coma and wake just as all the stores in town close. Then I can freely roam the streets with a pounding headache and see what all I've missed out on.

Six bottle, seven bottle, eight bottle.

It's going well so far, I think as I scream along with the crowd on TV. "Jerry! Jerry! Jerry!" In a drunken slur. A girl from Kentucky has just found out that her cousin slept with her boyfriend, who happens to be another cousin's brother's third cousin... Or something to that affect.

Nine bottle, ten bottle, eleven bottle.

_"You filthy whore! I knew you was a slut when I met you, bitch!" _They scream at each other and I get lost in the speech. I don't even know who's who anymore, but one of them got their weave yanked out. So that's what weave looks like... It's almost like real hair, to me. I bet it feels soft.

Twelve bottle, thirteen bottle, fourteen bottle.

_"Ladies, ladies," _Jerry says. _"Okay, now we're gonna bring out your boyfriend. Everybody please welcome, Ricky Ray!" _The crowd boos in unison and I boo along with them. That guy must feel so misunderstood. _"Baby, I ain't sleep with that bitch. She a ***beep* *beep***"_

Fifteen bottle, sixteen bottle, Jack.

Why doesn't Jerry let the boobs show? I want beads...

**10:31 PM**

Oh, hell. I've got two packs left, might as well down 'em. I wander the streets silently with my cases in the backpack I'm carrying so as not to look suspicious. The streets are quiet and the air is still. It feels good, almost easing the pounding sensation I feel in my head.

Seventeen bottle, eighteen bottle, new pack.

I stumble across an old abandoned dog and take a seat next to him on the cold lonely grass. "You too, huh?" He doesn't respond. "What did we do to deserve this? I mean, you're a really good lookin' dog... Where's your owner?" Still no response.

Nineteen bottle, twenty bottle, twenty-one bottle.

"You want some?" I pour a bit of corona on the grass in front of he dog. He licks it greedily. "What's your name, dog?" He will not answer any of my questions... "Fuck you, too, then..." I wander off, away from the rude dog and follow a sidewalk until my feet hurt.

Twenty-two bottle, twenty-three bottle, twenty-four bottle.

I come across a familiar looking house at the end of the sidewalk, leading into a cul-de-sac. Suddenly, I hear footsteps behind me and I swing around to catch the culprit. It's that dog. He followed me all this way. "What're you doin' here?" I question. He still won't answer, making me stomp my feet furiously.

Twenty-five bottle, twenty-six bottle, twenty-seven bottle.

The dog has got this crazed look on his face as he runs towards me at full speed. I'm almost scared, but I can't tell if he's even coming toward me or not... Just as I squint my eyes, in attempt to see a little clearer, I'm knocked on my back as the dog attacks me. "Stop it!" I plead, but he's not trying to hurt me, he's just licking my face.

I check my bag to see if I could possible salvage a swig from any of the last three broken glasses. There's beer all over the place, leaking from my bag and soaking the ground I stand on. I shoo the dog away but he won't leave me alone. Meanwhile, I stand and can automatically feel the cuts on my back from the shards of glass.

I reach under my shirt and pull my hand back, just as I'd suspected. Blotches of blood all over my hand. Shit. I leave the useless bag on the sidewalk and stagger to the familiar looking house while the dog follows behind me.

_Knock. Knock._

No answer.

_KNOCK. KNOCK._

"Help me!" I slur. "Open up!"

**_KNOCK! KNOCK!_**

Finally, I hear footsteps coming down a staircase and the locks on the door quack just before the door swings open, revealing a squinty-eyed young woman. She slowly allows her eyes to widen as much as they can while she adjusts to the light pouring through her door.

Now I know why this house looked so familiar. It's the quaint suburban home of Elena Gilbert.

I stupidly attempt to take a step into her house, but she slams the door violently, knocking me backwards and down the porch stairs. My head hits the wooden stairs hard and everything becomes black.


	2. 12 Months Earlier: Part 1

**12 Months Earlier: Part 1**

The fluorescent moon lit the shadowy streets of abandoned Las Vegas, where only the underground bars were worth inhabiting. Strippers and cons didn't come around here, so I was told. Only the intellectuals and artists were seen in this part of Vegas. Being out of town on "business" was my pitch to the locals who'd ask my story. But I'm not on business. I'm on vacation, strictly ordered by my boss.

"_You look tired, Damon... How about you take a break?"_

Leslie, like others in the office, was triggered by the growing stubble on my face, which I usually keep clean and baby's-butt soft. I also started wearing flannel because it felt more suitable for the amount of moving I was doing in a day, making shirts easier to sweat in.

But tonight, I decide to keep it even more casual and wear a plain white tee, no pun intended. I figure I'll try this new pick-up trick I learned from Tyler. He says there's no way I won't get play tonight. So I enter the brick building looking positively joyous and shuffle through the crowd, taking a seat at the desolate bar.

The bartender slings a whit rag over his shoulder, laying his hands on the smooth wood. "What's your poison?"

Here goes nothing. "I'll have an apple martini, dry," I say, watching amused as his eyebrow curls in curiosity. Nonetheless, he turns a heel and proceeds making my drink.

Tyler's an interesting friend. He's always got this insight that seems useless, but really isn't. Like the time he told me to go commando when I run so my junk will be noticed. The first day I actually tried that, not telling Tyler of course, I got three numbers from other habitual joggers that had otherwise ignored me. I silently thanked Tyler for the fun I had that evening with a young lady who will remain nameless for privacy sake.

Don't think for a second that my taking Tyler's advice is admitting that I have no game. On a good day, I get more ass than a toilet seat.

"That's a rather feminine drink, don't you think?" I let a sly smile creep across my face, turning around slowly to be greeted by a promiscuous looking brunette. She takes a seat next to me at the bar and sets her mini purse in front of her.

"You're awfully worried about my beverage choice, don't _you _think?" I retort.

"Well, that's because I genuinely care about you. Wouldn't want the guys in this bar thinking you're gay. And the ladies..." She trails off.

"What about the ladies?" I wonder, finally taking my drink from the bartender. I take a cautious sip. Definitely dry.

"The ladies might think this apple martini is just your sneaky way of getting them over here." Busted.

She quickly sees the cool defeated expression I'm sporting and laughs in my face. I join her, laughing hysterically.

Once the laughter comes to a halt, she sticks her hand out to me. "I'm Elena."

The bar instantly becomes ten times louder, blasting another obnoxious dance tune from the nineties. I lean in close, trying to elevate my voice above the music. "And I'm gay!" I yell.

She leans away from me, meeting my eyes in shock. "Are you serious?!" She questions.

I grin anxiously as an embarrassed smirk appears on her face. She apologizes and begins to walk away. Everything is going according to plan thus far... Seconds after she disappears into the pit of dancing bodies, I turn to another woman next to me, fresh off the dance floor. I play like I've just bought this martini specifically for her and slide it her way.

She smiles at me. "How'd you know?" She asks.

I shrug and chat her up for not even ten full minutes before Miss Elena returns to the bar, beads of sweat lining her forehead. She nudges the woman I'm conversating with and whispers in her ear. Davina, that's her name, raises her brows and awkwardly begins laughing at Elena.

"If he's gay, then why did he just invite me to his place?" She questions. Elena peers at me quizzically and I grin back at her.

"Elena, is it?" She scoffs. "You were kind of interrupting our conversation. Do you mind?" I wave her away.

I hear her mumble some obscenity directed towards me as she gallops away. Davina giggles in my face and I find myself becoming annoyed with her already.

"I have to piss," I tell her. She laughs caustically in my face again and nods understandingly. I amble towards the restrooms and make a quick left out the exit.

Just as I'd suspected, Miss Elena stood against the brick walls, peacefully smoking a cigarette. I could tell she's already acknowledged my presence as she was looking everywhere with the exception of my direction. I stood directly outside of the door, about ten feet away from her, staring placidly.

There was something about Elena that I craved. Whether it was her soft and angelic features or her subtle but defined body, I don't know. It could be her aromatic flowing hair of which every strand I'd like to touch. Her borderline-raspy voice that I'd like whispering in my ear. Her simple black dress and heels that seem to have required no effort at all to put together. The fact that she's wearing hardly any makeup. The way she's standing with one knee pointed towards the cool air, putting her body off balance but still evened.

It only took three minutes for her to become irritated with me and roll her eyes. "How long are you gonna stand there?" She snaps.

"I'm going to stand here until you agree to go on a date with me," I explain.

She begins to laugh at me, but only for a short while. "Have fun with that," she flicks her cigarette on the ground and stomps it subtly. "I'm going home."

"I'd offer you a ride, but, you know... _I'm not movin'..." _I sing.

"Nice, but I have my own car," she says, beginning to walk pass me.

"I'm not just an excellent singer, ya' know..."

She continues walking, "Oh, really?"

"I'm also an incredible dancer and a pretty face," I pose and she's still walking. "Hey Elena?"

I finally get her to turn around as she's approaches the parking lot. "What?"

"Aren't you forgetting something?" I sneakily pull her mini purse from out of my back pocket. I wonder if she'll accuse me of stealing it or thank me for finding it. She strikes me as the paranoid type.

"My purse..." She ganders towards me.

"Actually, I was going to say you were forgetting to say yes." I hand the purse over.

She eyes me curiously, alternating from my eyes to the purse. "I never caught your name."

"Damon Salvatore," I greet, sticking my hand out.

She holds it softly as I wait for the those sweet words to escape from her lips. "One date, Damon."

"Great, let's go." I lead her to my car anxiously.

"Right now?" She stumbles along.

"Mm hmm."


End file.
